


When Sherlock and John Took a Trip to the Fifties and Saved the World

by thiswayplease



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Torchwood
Genre: Ass-Kicking, BAMF Donna, BAMF Ianto, Companion Ianto Jones, Confused Sherlock, Crossover, Dark Ianto, Fluff, Gen, Jack Harkness Flirts, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Mild Language, Multiple Crossovers, Multiple Pairings, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Sassy John, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good, Tenth Doctor Era, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thiswayplease/pseuds/thiswayplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now alone with the blue box, Sherlock felt himself nearly throw up. His brain could come up with no proper explanation.<br/>They had just run through a wall.<br/>The wall John had fallen through.<br/>The Holmes exhaled. “I’m coming, John...” he murmured, stepping through.<br/>~~<br/>When John ends up literally falling into the 50s, Sherlock is determined to save him. </p><p>Jack's interest in John begins to cause Sherlock to wonder <i>why</i> he cares so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Police Box - Sherlock

**Author's Note:**

  * For [STEVEN F***ING MOFFAT (Kidding. Or am I...?)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=STEVEN+F%2A%2A%2AING+MOFFAT+%28Kidding.+Or+am+I...%3F%29).



> Hi there!  
> I wanted to write a Sherlock fic, and then somehow a TARDIS showed up and then, well, things got pretty crazy.

It all started when Sherlock noticed the appearance of a new telephone box.

“John,” he announced, grabbing the unsurprised man’s sleeve and pulling him into the alleyway, “Do you know why this is here?”

“Er, it’s a phone box, Sherlock, people use them to-”

Sherlock groaned, “I _know_ what a phone box is, John, but this specifically is a _police_ box. See, look at it.”

John, exasperated, indeed looked at it. “Yes, great, there are probably many of them-”

“But this one wasn’t _here before_! Come _on_ , John, we’ve had to run down this alleyway before, you certainly don’t remember seeing a police box here, do you?”

John paced around the blue box, which was situated in between a tall brick building and several rubbish bins; he was as irritated as he was intrigued. But it was _true_ ; he had no recollection of it. Even so, there shouldn’t be anything peculiar about it. Although it looked old, there was certainly some explanation for it. “Well, what are you planning to do with it? Phone the police?”

Sherlock pouted. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, “It can’t be of _importance_ , even though-” he tried to open the door, to no avail, “it’s locked.”

Sighing, John turned, heading back towards the road, “Well, it’s nearly four, Sherlock, we need to get to the-”

A loud crash and John was on the ground, dazed, as a breathless man in a Sherlock-esque coat stood over him, reaching out an arm to help him up. “Sorry, beautiful, but have you seen a blue-” His eyes grew wide, arm unmoving. John grumbled something as Sherlock hurried over to help him up. “There it is!” The man sprinted full force towards the box before knocking wildly on the door, yelling loudly in an American accent. “Doctor, come on, I know you’re in there, let me in! _Come on_!” There was desperation in the man’s voice.

“Christ, Sherlock,” John muttered, brushing dirt off of his trousers, “Do you _know_ him?”

Sherlock stared at the man, who was now pacing quickly around the box. “Well, he’s clearly not from around here, his accent is American. He’s...very interested in the police box.”

“Well, obviously,” John interrupted.

“Oh, did you notice?” Sherlock asked, a mixture of annoyance and pleasant surprise in his voice. “And...” He went silent for a moment, pacing a three foot continuum, before an air of resolve fell over him. He rushed over to the man. “What is this box?”

“It’s a police box.”

“Oh, _is it_? I had no idea they were giving this alleyway a new atmosphere by redecorating. And of course, plans to put a _doctor_ inside.”

The man nearly laughed. He stretched out his hand. “Jack Harkness.”

Sherlock didn’t move. “Holmes. Sherlock Holmes.”

A look of recognition crossed Jack’s face. “You’re that detective guy, right?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. “ _Regrettably_.”

“He’s a Consulting Detective, only one in the world,” John cut in, “And a bloody genius.”

“John...” Sherlock muttered, but his attention was already back on the box. “ _Tell me_ about it, Jack. Or I’ll figure it out for myself.”

“And just why should I tell you?” Jack laughed, leaning against the box.

The Holmes’s eyebrows rose. “American,” he muttered, “But not originally, oh no. That coat is old, the forties. World War Two, military. But why do you have it? Family? A gift? It means _something._ And-” Sherlock’s gaze narrowed. “You were flirting with John earlier-”

“He _what_?” John spluttered, flushing, as Jack grinned.

“But I’m not _that_ thoughtless, you’re interested in both men _and_ women. And-”

At that moment, Jack’s phone rang. Sherlock and he stared at each other for a silent moment before Jack picked up. “Harkness,” he said. “Ah, Ianto, my favorite. I...Yes, I can wait. Would you...I’m in London...Oh, already?...Okay.” He hung up.

“Your boyfriend?” Sherlock muttered, but suddenly, he wasn’t really paying attention. His gaze was instead focused on John, whom was presently falling through the brick wall he had just been leaning against, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Jack saw it too, and immediately, his gun was out at the ready.

Sherlock didn’t move. He was, naturally, confused. His friend had just fallen through a wall. A _wall._ He’d seen it. Nothing seemed any different about this wall-

“Down here!” Someone shouted, as they turned and sprinted into the alleyway. It was another man in a coat, but followed by a woman with bright red hair. He had a thin silver object in his hand that was pointing green light down the alley towards the wall John had just fallen into.

“Here it is! This wall...come on, Donna, ladies first!” She stopped in front of the wall, ready to step through when suddenly Jack was hugging the man.

“Oh, Doctor, I’m so glad I found you!”

“Jack! What are you doing here?”

“I’ll tell you later, let’s go!”

And with no questions asked, the woman named Donna was through the wall, followed closely by Jack and the man called Doctor.

Now alone with the blue box, Sherlock felt himself nearly throw up. His brain could come up with no proper explanation.

They had just run through a wall.

The wall _John_ had fallen through.

Sherlock approached it, slowly reaching out to touch it. He wasn’t unsurprised when his hand went through the brick, but still found himself rather disconcerted.

The Holmes exhaled. “I’m coming, John...” he murmured, stepping through.


	2. Playing Along? - John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chappie 2! Yay. Hope you enjoy it~

John’s soldier instincts had failed to kick in as he had begun to fall, his mouth instead forming a silent cry of “Sherlock!” as his body froze.

He landed hard on his back on something cold that felt like marble, cursing silently as he stood up, dazed. No one had seemed to notice him.

Elvis filled his ears and bright neon lights, cheerful dresses and leather jackets filled his vision.

His attention was rather focused on the fact that he was standing in a 1950’s American diner.

“Hello,” he said to no one in particular, and no one in particular noticed. He took a step forward. “Hey-” A waitress in a bright pink poodle skirt met his eyes. She smiled. John immediately thought that she was attractive.

“Can I help you?”

He didn’t care how stupid he sounded when he asked, “Where am I?”

She continued smiling, brown eyes twinkling, and said, “Pennyville, Georgia, sir. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he muttered, turning back to the wall he had been by earlier. It was just a brick wall, painted white and surrounded by posters and lights. How had he ended up here? He was just in an alleyway with Sherlock!

The waitress was pulled away by someone else, so John took the opportunity to curse several times before pulling out his mobile. _No service,_ it read. He cursed again.

 _A movie set,_ he thought, _or just an old fashioned diner. Everyone here is just...playing along. That’s it. Everyone is just playing along._

He glanced back at his phone and grimaced.

The desperate urge for tea arose and he paced to the glass door with a bright _OPEN!_ sign on it, fighting the need to kick something. He stepped outside, closed his eyes as he exhaled and turned around, stepped back inside and opened them.

No change.

He wasn’t _that_ surprised.

Just surprised enough that he suddenly found himself falling quickly towards the ground into darkness.

 

It was just a few minutes later when three more strangers showed up in the diner, and they were met with an entourage of shouting people crowded around something.

After the Doctor and Donna had gotten over their surroundings (“ _Is that Elvis playing?” “Ah, yes. I actually met him once-” “Not the time for stories, Doctor. Are we in the ‘50’s?” “1950’s? Yes. America’s ‘50’s to be specific.”_ Donna also soon had to refrain the Doctor from ordering a sundae.) , they ran forward to see what the big fuss was about, pushing through the mob.

(Jack took the opportunity to hit on a cute busboy.)

Donna gawked at the man lying on the ground. “Is he – He’s from our time! He’s a _bachelor_!”

“Move aside, move aside, I’m a Doctor!” The crowd of people thinned until the Doctor could get to the unconscious body on the ground. “He’s still alive, don’t worry.”

Sherlock chose then to show up.

His senses were overwhelmed.

It didn’t help that the first thing he saw was Jack snogging some busboy.

“John?” He said loudly, and turning to Jack asked, “Jack, where is John?”

Jack nodded towards the throng of people. “Your boy’s over there,” he stated. “We’re in the 1950’s, by the way. What _fun_!”

Sherlock stumbled towards the mob of people as his stomach leapt. Had he not been such a prideful bloke, he definitely would’ve vomited right then and there. John lay motionless on the ground, next to red-haired Donna and the “Doctor”. ( _A doctor? A doctor of what?_ )

“He’s...he’s okay, then?” Sherlock mumbled, crouching as he leaned over his partner. Yes, he still had a pulse. He was breathing. That was good. “What happened?” he asked, his brain in overload. Sherlock tried desperately to analyze the situation.

A woman in a poodle skirt turned to him; she had large brown eyes that reminded him of Molly’s. She was much taller than Molly, though, and her hair was cut to just below her shoulders. “He just fainted. Seemed a bit confused before, too. Asked me where he was.”

Sherlock noted from the license plates in the lot that they were in Georgia. He didn’t need to ask.

“That’s all?”

She smiled pleasantly as she nodded. “Neither of you are from ‘round here, right?”

“England,” Sherlock responded as a groan came from John.

“Sherlock...” John groaned, sitting up. Sherlock tried to usher him back down, but John knocked his hand away. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m-” he looked around for a moment before letting out several grumbled obscenities. “Never mind, I’m feeling right knackered and would like to go home.” He stood up and turned to the Doctor and Donna, who were staring at him expectantly.

“You’re Sherlock Holmes,” Donna said to Sherlock, then turned to John, “and you’re a bachelor.”

“I’m- I’m _what_?! You know him by name and I’m just ‘a bachelor’?!”

She rolled her eyes. “ _Confirmed_ bachelor?”

A voice emanated from behind them. “Did I hear ‘bachelor’?”

The Doctor exhaled, already irritated, “Jack...”

“Point me towards this confirmed bachelor, will ‘ya?” Jack probed, as Donna and the Doctor (grudgingly) pointed at John.

“Hey – I’m not gay. Thank you, for the, er, interest, though.”

“That’s what they all say,” Jack grinned, parading towards John _(“I beg your pardon?”)_ as an exasperated Sherlock stuck an arm out.

“I believe we have bigger problems to deal with than John’s sexuality.” John nodded inattentively as Sherlock herded everyone towards the doorway. “You all do realize that _we’re stuck in the 1950’s_?”

The Doctor grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, about that...Time Leeches.”

Jack gasped. “Time Leeches? I’ve dealt with those before – they threw me into Ancient Egypt once. I somehow ended up at their camp and _then_ had to find the RDM Machine-”

“RDM,” the Doctor interrupted. “Unless, of course, you mean to say the Reverse Dimension Machine Machine.”

Jack continued as if he hadn’t heard, “...to get back to my own time. I take it we have to find one somewhere around here. That’s the only way to get back – we can’t just go back through the wall. The leeches have the portal closed up.” He turned back to the busboy and tuned the rest of the conversation out.

“And where will this RDM be?” Sherlock asked.

The Doctor stood in silent thought for several minutes. By the time he finally spoke, Donna was filing her nails and Jack had hit on six more people.

“We should visit the art museum, obviously.”

“Doctor,” Donna groaned, looking up from her nails, which looked just as dull and uncared for as before, “We don’t have time to stare at _art_! We need to-”

“It’ll be there. Jack could tell you, if he wasn’t-” All eyes looked at him snogging, then glanced back to the Doctor, “well, the portal that we need to get back to the 21st century will be there. It should get us back.”

It was John who spoke this time. “S _hould?_ Wait, _how_ do you know any of this?”

The Doctor cocked an eyebrow as if wondering how this man could believe that _The Doctor_ could be wrong. He contemplated making something up to tell him, some utter lie, but decided against it. “I, like Jack, have had to deal with these leeches before. They, well, they seem to have an affinity for...art. It’s in plain view, but no one touches it. Easy access, really.”

“Art?” John said, exasperated. “Well, Sherlock knows a thing or two about art.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but only after looking affectionately at his partner for a moment. “I know a thing or two about everything.”

“Except for our solar system, of course-”

“Shut up, John.”

Jack had been writing his number down on paper for several girls, who had run away laughing in delight, and after so, turned back to the Doctor. “Let’s go, then. No time to waste.”

The Doctor turned towards where he, naturally, knew the museum would be. One would almost believe that he’d visited the 1950’s many times before. “Allons-y!” 


	3. Unexceptional Companions - Donna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, wow! Another chapter. I'm moving along pretty quickly; I've already gotten the next two chapters written also, but I'm not uploading them till another day. ;)  
> I also realized that there will most certainly be more than six chapters, so I changed the chapter count to nine. It's just an estimate right now. At the pace of each chapter, it may end up being fifteen chapters. I don't know yet, but I do my best to give an estimate rather than just leaving a question mark. Hope this doesn't throw anybody off. XD  
> Thirdly, I'm working harder on making each chapter more personal to the selected character. As the story develops more, the personalization should too. Donna's input on this chapter isn't overwhelming, but there is some. She'll most definitely have another chapter later that'll look much more into her thoughts.   
> Well, thanks for reading so far!

Donna was no detective, but she could still tell that the two men were worried. The bachelor, John, apparently, appeared completely paranoid, checking his surroundings constantly as if in battle. He also appeared to be limping slightly, something the taller, strikingly handsome one, Sherlock, had also noticed.

“John, don’t worry,” Sherlock murmured to his partner. Jack and the Doctor were conversing seriously about the situation, so she was left pacing behind everyone. Naturally, her interests had fallen on Sherlock and John, neither of which had really paid her any attention. She was forced to simply listen to them talk.

“You don’t need to try to console me, Sherlock. I’m fine.”

“You’re limping.”

“I- I’m _fine_ , Sherlock. I’ve been in worse situations.”

Sherlock seemed to be holding back an ill-mannered statement, but John didn’t notice. Donna noticed, and smiled slightly. She had had her share of repressed rude statements, too.

“Don’t worry, boys,” she interrupted, and Sherlock and John turned around to look at her, as if they hadn’t even noticed she was there. “I’ve been travelling with the Doctor for a while. He knows what he’s doing, even if it doesn’t seem that way.”

“Let’s hope so,” Sherlock muttered to himself. John shot him a look.

They turned back around and continued walking in silence as Donna watched them. She’d heard some bad things about Sherlock, but he didn’t seem that bad. He was blunt and honest, and didn’t take well to stupidity, yet he latched onto John like a leech.

_What makes John so special?,_ she wondered. He was a seemingly normal bloke, nothing next to Sherlock’s genius.

It reminded her of her relationship with the Doctor.

The Doctor was a genius; he seemed to know everything about everything. She knew that he was completely capable of travelling by himself, so why did he have her?

Why did these geniuses have their unexceptional companions?

A shout from the Doctor interrupted her thoughts. “This is it!”

One-by-one, they filed in the door into the museum. It looked like any other art museum she’d ever been to: large, open, and filled with art. Donna was never too interested in art, especially not modern art. This museum seemed to be filled with mainly landscapes. _Almost as bad,_ she thought.

“Well,” John said, “What should we be doing? Checking behind the paintings? I’d rather not set off any alarms. Mind you, Sherlock’s already gotten me an ASBO.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, causing Donna to snicker to herself.

“No, no,” The Doctor responded, pacing, unable to stand still, “More obvious than that...it will be-”

“-something out of place,” Sherlock finished. He eyed the paintings carefully. “This again,” he murmured. Donna wondered what he was referring to, but didn't voice her thoughts. 

“The painting will be a portal, right, Jack-”

Jack, who had been relaxing on the museum seats, suddenly stood up with a gasp, not even hearing the Doctor’s words. “Ia-Ianto?!” he shouted, as someone tumbled out of a painting and onto him, causing them both to topple onto the floor.

“Jack,” Ianto said softly, as if unsurprised. His arms were on either side of Jack’s head, and he was lying on top of him. Jack could see that his eyes were a puffy and he wiped a few stray tears off of his face. Honestly, Ianto looked like he’d just returned from Hell. “Where...?”

Jack wrapped his arms around Ianto’s back and pulled him closer, causing several museum-goers to gasp and quickly skitter away. He whispered something into his ear that Donna couldn’t hear, but it looked like an attempt to console him.

After momentarily gazing into Jack’s concerned eyes, Ianto, who appeared noticeably uncomfortable, stood up and looked at the other three people standing around them, staring. They introduced themselves awkwardly to Ianto; John having to point to Sherlock and introduce him as he was now investigating each individual painting.

Donna eyed the new man carefully. He was very cute, but not her type – rather, he certainly appeared to be Jack’s type. From what she could tell, they were in a relationship. The relationship didn’t keep him from flirting with everyone else, though.

“Let me guess,” Ianto began, attempting to pull himself together, “...Time Leeches. Paintings, right, Jack? I remember that you had a damn struggle trying to find a museum in Egypt-”

“Yes, yes, thank you. You’re right. The Leeches use it to make sure to keep contact with the time periods that they are leeching from – leeching _energy_ , of course. For some strange reason, it’s always hidden in art,” Jack said, getting off the floor and putting his arm around Ianto, who brushed him off with a mutter of “ _not now_ ”, even though his eyes never left the man. “The interesting thing is, there are probably many portals in here and in many other museums to different time periods, but we just don’t know what to look for.”

Everyone glanced at one another in silence, mulling over Jack’s words, until Sherlock shouted, “Doctor!”

They all scuttled over towards him and the everyone’s eyes got wide when they saw the painting. It was in a thin silver frame, stretched from ceiling to floor and was about five feet wide.

Donna's mouth fell open.

“That’s...” John began warily, but Sherlock cut him off.

“The modern day Scotland Yard, yes.”

“Well,” Jack said as all eyes moved slowly to him, “Who volunteers to step through first?”


	4. Not a Werewolf - Ianto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (late) holidays, and happy New Sherlock month!

Ianto had been on the invisible lift, on his way to get pizza, when he’d been confronted.

“Hey there, boy,” he’d heard. At first, he’d completely disregarded the statement. The perception filter on the lift prevented anyone from seeing him. The man speaking was naturally referring to some other ‘boy’. He continued rising in silence, and was almost to the top when he heard the voice again.

“I can see you, boy. Over here.”

Ianto raised his eyebrows and looked towards the source of the voice. It was a man, about six or seven years his senior. Jack would’ve flirted with him had he been there, but Ianto was uninterested. He was attractive, but Ianto wasn’t really interested in men other than Jack.

“Me?” Ianto said warily, not seeing anyone else in sight, “You can see through the filter?”

“Yes, you,” the man said, a slight grin crossing his face, “On your way to get pizza for Torchwood?”

Ianto swallowed hard. The man must be watching him regularly, leading him to know Torchwood’s regular pizza habits, but seeing through the filter? Bizarre. “Who’s asking?”

“You _really_ want to know?” He asked, his smirk so strong Ianto could practically hear it in his voice. He wasn’t Welsh but Northern English, possibly Scottish.

“Should I?” Ianto asked, suddenly hoping desperately for Jack to show up. He’d been on a trip for the past few days, and had said that he wasn’t sure when he would return. Jack disappeared occasionally, but it still caused Ianto to become rather lonely.

“Yes,” the man responded plainly, and before Ianto knew it, he was up fifteen feet in the air, looking down. He let out a gasp and began to struggle in vain.

“Wh-what, no, stop...What are you _doing_?!” The mysterious man had an arm up, as if holding him up in the air. Ianto scanned about desperately to see if anyone else was around, but the vicinity was eerily empty. He let out a whimper.

“Haven’t you ever wanted to fly?” The man asked, and Ianto almost choked when he saw the man show his teeth. They were the teeth of a wolf.

“No, not...a werewolf?!” No, it couldn’t be...werewolves didn’t have the power to levitate things, nonetheless people. _What was this creature?!_

“Close, but _no_.”

Ianto felt himself float even higher, so he stopped struggling, instead freezing up in fear. He was a good thirty feet in the air now and climbing, and his chance of survival was rapidly decreasing. Someone had to see him, someone _had_ to see him!

“I could just let you fall, you know. It wouldn’t ruin my night – in fact, I might even sleep _better_.”

“What do you want from me?” Ianto exclaimed, his voice cracking from fear halfway through.

“What do I _want?_ ” he asked showily, “ _Energy_ , of course.”

With unexaggerated relish, he put his arm down at his side quickly, and Ianto began falling from fifty feet up. He let out a loud cry, but stopped suddenly only inches from the ground, unharmed, at least physically.

“The more fear I cause in you, the more energy I will receive. Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?” He bared his teeth in another ferocious smile. Ianto could do nothing but close his eyes and imagine something else. _Jack, Jack, Jack..._

Twenty minutes of _fun_ later, the man laughed. “It’s been twenty minutes, boy. I think we’re about done here – I have other projects to attend to.”

With a final grin, he dropped Ianto. This time, he didn’t stop him.

Even the cruel man was surprised when Ianto fell right through the ground.

Right after felt himself slow down, almost as if he’d been flipped, Ianto opened his eyes to find himself toppling right onto someone.

“Ia-Ianto?” he heard.

He recognized the voice right away.

_I’m dead. I’m dead. This must be what happens when you die._

_Right?_

“Jack,” Ianto said softly. He was on top of Jack, whom soon reached up to wipe some of his tears away. He blushed, but his face was already so red that it probably wasn’t noticeable.

Ianto felt like hell.

“Where....” he muttered, looking around, the thought that he might not be dead rapidly occurring to him.

They were in a museum. A _museum_. He was about to comment on it when Jack wrapped his arms around him and in his ear whispered, “Right on time, gorgeous. We’ll talk about it later, okay? Don’t worry. I’ll protect you.”

Jack’s words sounded like nothing more than platitudes, but he knew they were true, and just what Ianto needed to hear.

_It will be alright_ , he thought to himself. _Won’t it?_

**Author's Note:**

> Don't expect progress on this fic to be lightning fast, because it won't be. But I shall still try my very best to update regularly!


End file.
